A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: It's a Thanksgiving story!  Ah, the holidays are upon The Lightman Group! This is the sequel to It's the Great Pumpkin Cal Lightman, wherein we see football, turkey, Zoe -boo, hiss!- and more baked treats and, of course, more Charlie Brown! COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Well, hello there! I have been getting questions about a sequel to "It's the Great Pumpkin, Cal Lightman" and here's my answer: YES! Now. This story will not be quite as purely flufftastic as the last one for OBVIOUS reasons (*cough* Zoe *cough*). So, I hope it will be as well received as the other one! Anyway! _

_I now present for your reading enjoyment (hopefully!):_

**A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving**

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"No." The voice assaulting Cal Lightman's ears was terse and unwavering.

"Funny," he said, "I wasn't aware that I'd asked a question."

Zoe Landau, clad in a navy blue pantsuit, leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest while raising an eyebrow at her ex-husband.

Cal Lightman was seated at his desk, a case file open in front of him—he looked at his ex-wife. Her long brown hair was pulled back at each side but still fell down over her shoulders and her expressive eyes were fixed on him as she flashed a contemptuous smirk.

"Let me get this straight," she said, her gaze narrowing slightly as her hands gripped the sides of her elbows, "You want Gillian Foster to come over to my house for Thanksgiving dinner?"

Cal nodded and placed his palms flat on the desk in front of him—"I don't see what's so wild about that." He said, simply, turning his head to the side.

Zoe laughed, then, but it was mirthless, "I'm _not _having Gillian over during our family holiday."

Cal arched an eyebrow at her—"Fine, Zoe. We can change the tradition a bit and we can have it at _my _house—Gillian and I will cook."

Zoe's gaze darkened and Cal watched as anger passed over her face. "No." She said again, shaking her head and sticking her chin out in defiance.

Cal pressed his hands into the desk rather hard, trying to control his anger. From years of experience he knew that getting mad at Zoe even when she was being particularly and unnecessarily unreasonable was _never _a good idea. He pushed himself back in his chair and placed his palms flat on his legs, instead, creating a rather open posture. Resisting the urge to speak through clenched teeth, he regarded her, "Let me get this straight? Roger will be coming to Thanksgiving dinner, but Gillian isn't allowed to come over?" Cal placed particular emphasis on the word 'allowed,' letting Zoe know in no uncertain terms precisely how he felt about that.

Zoe pursed her lips into a slight smile, "Yes, well." She uncrossed her arms, "Roger is my _fiancé._" She said, finally, holding up her left had so that Cal could see the ring.

A few months ago, Cal would've felt sick at the thought—he would have felt jealousy course through his veins at the thought of Roger and Zoe being engaged. Now, he felt nothing about it—a fact which irked Zoe endlessly. Cal knew she was testing him, and he read a hopeful sort of look on her face as she dangled the ring in front of him—she _wanted_ to be jealous. For a brief moment, Cal considered obliging and allowing a jealousy he didn't actually feel pass over his face, but the thought felt like such a contradiction that he simply couldn't do it.

Cal sighed. "I know." He said, and he watched as Zoe placed her hands in her lap, wrung them together and bit her lip. He watched her face before he spoke again, unable to keep the slightest bit of anger out of his voice, "And Gillian is my—" He stopped, suddenly at a loss for words.

Zoe, not wanting to miss her opportunity, and seeing how flustered Cal was as his face scrunched up in confusion, laughed outright. Having lived with one of the world's foremost lie detection experts, she'd picked up a few things along the way, and Cal's discomfort did not go unnoticed by the tall brunette.

Laughing in a rather cruel sort of way she said, "Gillian's your—what, Cal? What is she?"

Cal remained silent, his mind still searching for the word that he simply couldn't find. Nothing he thought of seemed to fit. "She's my—" He began again, goaded by the look he saw on his ex-wife's face.

Zoe smiled, "Your girlfriend?" She asked, contempt evident in her voice. "Is that what she is, Cal?" She looked at him, and then she moved her arms to the arms of the chair, her elbows resting on each one, "Your lover? Is Gillian your lover, then?" She said, her eyes narrowing. "Funny, even after all this time, you _still _can't tell me what she is to you, can you?" The tone in Zoe's voice was one Cal recognized from their many fights about Gillian. It was a strange mixture of hurt, contempt and challenge—and it was a tone he rarely heard from Zoe in regard to anything _but_ Gillian.

Cal flashed anger then, and Zoe read it straight away, and she opened her mouth to say something else, but Cal silenced her, "Enough, Zoe." He said, fixing her with his cool gaze.

She held her hands up in mock defense, "Hey, don't get mad at me because you _still_ can't define what the hell you have with Little Miss Perfect." She said, tossing her hair slightly, her lips curling around the insult.

"Come on, Zo." He said, finally, looking at her, "Do you have to be so…" he trailed off, tilting his head to the right, "mean?" He finished.

Zoe regarded him coolly, not looking chagrined in the slightest. "Oh, please, Cal, lighten up." She said, her voice taking on a rather affected quality. In truth, she had always been put off by how protective Cal was of Gillian.

"I'd say the same to you," Cal said, glancing at her hands, both of which were grasping the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Zoe sighed and flashed anger as she released her near death grip on the chair. "Whatever, Cal." She said, rolling her eyes.

Cal then crossed his arms over his chest, signaling that he was changing tactical approaches, "Look, Zo, up until now it's always been a family tradition to have Thanksgiving dinner at your place—just you, me, and Em." He paused for a moment, "And if you hadn't invited Roger over, it probably would have stayed like that," He lied, "_But_ you did invite him—and so, I'm inviting Gillian this year, too." He finished.

Zoe's face remained rather blank, actually, but Cal was focused on her eyes—and her eyes were smoldering with anger and her nostrils flared a bit. Cal felt a sense of indignation rising up in him as well as an urge to lash out—he did his best to quell it, but failed as he spoke again, "Emily wants her there."

Cal felt those words float into the air between them and he almost regretted saying them as he watched Zoe's face contort in pure anger. Zoe had always rather hated the relationship Gillian had with Emily—it had come up more than a handful of times throughout the years and Cal knew her feelings on the matter. He nearly felt badly about bringing it up, but there was something about Zoe that brought out the urge to retaliate within him.

Zoe clenched her teeth and Cal watched as a myriad of emotions passed over her face. She opened her mouth to speak, and her words were venomous, "You asshole." She said, finally.

Cal squinted his eyes at her again, and then shrugged and smiled a little bit—silently agreeing with her. Silence fell between them and Cal sighed heavily as Zoe stared at him, "Look." He said, his voice pointed. "Gillian's coming to Thanksgiving dinner, end of story."

Cal watched as Zoe's face still held the anger, but also took on an air of resignation, "Fine." She said, finally, her voice flat.

Cal got up from his chair and said, "Well, darling, it was great of you to stop by, but I've got a meeting to attend to," Zoe rose, grabbed her purse from the floor at her feet and headed to the door. Cal opened the door for her and asked innocently, "What time should we be there on Thursday?"

Zoe rolled her eyes, "Three." She said, as she walked through the door.

Cal followed suit, following closely behind Zoe, "Lovely. I'll see if Gillian can make it, then."

At his words, Zoe spun on her heel and stopped. Cal nearly ran into her. Her eyes were filled with anger and also a bit of humor. Cal smiled at her then, the smile that showed all of his teeth. Shrugging, he walked passed her and called out over his shoulder, "See you Thursday, Zo."

Zoe sighed, made some noncommittal remark and watched as Cal Lightman swaggered down the hallway, an unusual spring in his step. As Zoe walked out of The Lightman Group building she knew, without a doubt, precisely what caused that spring in his step. She pushed the door open. Or rather, precisely _whom_ caused it.

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_TBC_

_Don't worry- Gillian will make an appearance in the next chapter! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello! Well, thank you all for your lovely reviews- they ABSOLUTELY made my day. And for your troubles, you all have secured yourselves chapter 2 of this tale in a very timely fashion!_

_So, here's chapter 2 of A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving!_

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Cal was standing in his kitchen, bent over the oven pulling a pan of lasagna out of the oven. He was clad in his seasonal apron which so happened to be covered in leaves of various assorted colors.

With a flourish, he placed it on the stovetop and presented it to his daughter, Emily, who was seated in one of the bar stools, hunched over her books studying for a math exam. Seeing his dramatic gesture, she looked up from her reading and laughed at the silly expression on his face.

Her brown eyes lit up as she looked at him, "Smells delicious, Dad." She said, finally, laughing at the look he gave her.

"'Course it does," He said, taking the oven mitt off his hand and placing it on the hook by the oven, "I made it, didn't I?" Walking over to his daughter, he peered over her shoulder, "How do you think you'll do on your math exam?"

The teenage girl scrunched up her nose, "I'm not really sure—we'll see, I guess." She said, before she smiled and added, "It's a wonder I'm not more conceited, though, what with you as a father figure and all."

Cal grinned at his daughter and then threw her a mock pained expression, "That hurts, Emily," He said, walking over to the sink and washing his hands, "Hurts." He said again, and Emily giggled.

Emily was about to reply when a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts—"Gill!" She screamed, and slid off the chair, poised to get the door.

Cal's voice gave her pause, "Oi!" He called, and she spun around on her heel, looking at him expectantly, "You can answer the door, but make yourself scarce for a few minutes, yeah?" Cal's hand motioned to the books spread out over the counter, and rolled his eyes upward, indicating his suggestion.

Emily grinned widely before scooping up her books and heading toward the front door, "Sure, dad—anything you say!" She said as she shoved the books under her left arm, papers spilling out in disarray.

Cal waited in the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of wine he'd picked up and two glasses. Sighing, he tried to ignore a sense of impending dread as he opened the drawer to find the wine opener.

Cal could hear the door open and the voices drift toward him—he smiled when he heard the gentle tenor of Gillian's as she greeted Emily.

Emily swung the door open and grinned at Gillian, "Hi, Gill!" She exclaimed excitedly, and held the door open for her to come inside.

"Hey, Em." Gillian greeted, a warm smile gracing her face.

Emily wrapped her right arm—the one that was not clutching her study materials—around Gillian in a makeshift hug which Gillian returned with a light laugh.

"I've missed you lately!" Emily said, closing the door and locking it.

Gillian smiled again, "I've missed you too—we've just been so busy at work." She said, by way of explanation.

Emily nodded her understanding, "That's what Dad said." She said, and then she added, "He's in the kitchen, by the way." Gillian nodded, and Emily laughed, "I've got a huge test tomorrow, so I'm going to be up in my room studying until it's time to eat." She said, and then turned on her heel and went up the stairs, still clutching her book, her long brown hair swaying in its gentle curls as she ascended.

Gillian sighed and watched Emily's retreating form. She and Cal had been—well, she wasn't quite sure what they had been, actually—but they'd been it for nearly three weeks, and the way that Emily absolutely embraced Gillian as a member of the family even though she technically wasn't still made Gillian's heart swell with love.

She made her way to the kitchen and pushed the door open. She was greeted with a sight that also made her heart swell—Cal Lightman, clad in a kitschy apron, leaning against the kitchen counter, grinning at her.

"Hello, love." He said, his palms braced behind him on the counter.

She smiled at him, and then got a better look at his apron. It was an off-white color with leaves on it in a variety of colors—red, orange and yellow with a few brown thrown into the mix. And on the pocket of the apron was a giant orange pumpkin with the vine still on it. Looking him up and down, she began to laugh, "Cal, what is it with you and your aprons?" She questioned.

Cal enjoyed seeing the way her face lit up when she laughed and her eyes crinkled at the sides. He shrugged at her and then reached behind him, untied the apron and lifted it over his head. Setting it gingerly on the counter behind him, he looked Gillian up and down. His eyes took in her dark wash jeans and her brown shirt and he looked at her approvingly, marveling in her ability to make comfortable look downright sexy.

Despite the fact that she and Cal had crossed a proverbial line in their relationship, Gillian was still often taken aback by the way Cal looked at her—and standing in the middle of his kitchen, she felt exposed, subject to his appreciate glance, and she flushed under his attention.

He walked towards her and Gillian felt butterflies in her stomach at the look in his eye as he did so. Cal shrugged when he stopped in front of her, in answer to her question. Then, without warning, he snaked his right arm out and wrapped it around her waist, drawing her close to him. Smiling at her, his gaze darted from her eyes back down to her mouth and then back to her eyes again before he placed his lips on hers. Gillian sighed into him as he deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing together as he ran his left hand up her back and into her hair while her hands encircled his waist and she pressed her body into his.

Pulling away, Cal licked his lips and his voice was gravelly with desire when he said, "I've missed you, darling."

Her eyes shone as she looked him in the eye, "I've missed you too." She said, and then Cal encircled her in a hug again, before pulling away and heading to the oven.

He set the oven on low heat, picked up the lasagna tray and slid it into the oven. "Lasagna alright?" He asked as he shut the door.

Gillian smiled—lasagna was one of her favorites, which Cal well knew, she made a little sound of appreciation, "More than alright," She said, sidling up to the bar stool in the kitchen.

Cal then busied himself with opening the bottle of wine. As the cork popped out, he looked at Gillian who was raising her eyebrow at him.

"Uh oh." She said as she hoisted herself onto the chair, "What have you done now?"

Cal chuckled and poured the sauvignon blanc into the two waiting wine glasses. Walking over to her, he widened his eyes in a way that he hoped suggested innocence, "Can't I just want to spend a lovely evening with you sipping wine and eating one of your favorite foods?" He asked as he handed her the glass.

Gillian laughed as she took the glass from his hands. She brought the rim of the glass to her lips and took a sip, she smiled as the flavor hit her tongue, "You could." She said, "But I doubt that's what's going on here," She said, raising her eyebrows and taking another swallow of the wine.

Cal studied her, narrowing his eyes as he leaned in closer to her, "I" he said as he rested his left hand on the counter in front of her, "am offended by that."

Gillian rolled her eyes, "I'm sure you are." She said, a smile playing on her lips.

Cal laughed then and straightened himself, the proverbial cogs turning in his head. He wasn't entirely sure about how he should go about broaching the subject of Thanksgiving dinner at Zoe's with Gillian.

"So…" Gillian said, her eyes still fixed on him, "What's up?"

Cal hesitated slightly and then sighed heavily. Unable to think of a way to delicately articulate his question, he decided to drive right in, "Have any plans for Thanksgiving?" He asked.

Gillian eyed him appraisingly—and she felt a sense of dread pass over her. She knew precisely why Cal was asking. She momentarily considered lying to him but quickly decided against it—"I was just going to stay in and make dinner." She said, simply.

Cal maintained eye contact with her and he could see her discomfort, "Gillian," He said, reaching out and placing a hand on hers, "Come to Zoe's with Emily and me." He said gently.

Gillian's eyes went wide with what Cal could only describe as panic. He would have laughed had it not been apparent that she felt it so deeply. She'd been expecting him to ask, of course, but she still couldn't contain her reaction, "Cal…" She said, and it nearly registered as a groan, "I don't think that's the best idea." She said, finally.

"Why not?" He asked, his palms upward.

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes, "You know full well why not." She responded, her tone taking on a rather admonishing quality.

Cal shrugged, "Come on, Gillian." He said, his tone gentle while at the same time pleading.

She sighed and shook her head. "I don't think so." She said, glancing away at some point on the countertop in front of her, "Maybe you and Emily can stop by after Zoe's?" She posited, her eyes hopeful.

Cal turned his head, "Zoe invited you." He said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian looked at him then and she nearly laughed. She had remembered him as a better liar. A small smile played on her lips when she spoke, "Liar."

Cal smiled at her then, "Okay, well, no she didn't. But, she wants you there." He tried again.

Gillian looked at him and couldn't stop her mouth from hanging slightly open. Finally, she chuckled and then said, "Cal Lightman, you are _such_ a liar." Shaking her head, she added, "And you used to be so much better at it, too!"

Cal shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, no she doesn't." He paused and his eyes turned serious, "But I do."

Gillian smiled as she allowed her eyes to pass over his face, "Well, at least that's the truth."

Cal nodded, "It is." He leaned into her, "I really really want you there, actually." She chuckled and he added, "And Emily wants you there, too."

Gillian's mouth opened slightly, "Hey, no fair using your daughter like that." She admonished.

Cal grinned, "Sorry, darling, but it's true. She loves you and I know for a fact that Em wants you there."

Just then, as if summoned by the power of his suggestion, Emily walked through the door, "I want Gillian where?" She asked, her gaze shifting back and forth between her father and Gillian.

Cal grinned as if to say _you have perfect timing_, before he answered, "At Thanksgiving dinner at your mum's."

As soon as Cal's words reached Emily's ears, she lit up and emitted a rather high pitched shriek, "Ohmygod!" She exclaimed, the words rushing together as they were prone to do when she was excited, "Yes! Yes, I do. You _have _to come, Gillian."

Gillian sighed heavily, "I don't know…"

At Gillian's hesitation, Emily pouted. Gillian laughed at her and then turned her attention to Cal only to find that he, too, was taking his daughter's lead and pouting. "You two!" She exclaimed, shaking her head.

"Please, Gillian?" Emily said through her pout.

"Yeah, Please, Gillian?" Cal echoed, leaning his elbow on the counter and resting his chin on his fist.

Gillian pursed her lips, and thought about it. Truthfully, she didn't want to go to Zoe's for Thanksgiving. She really, really didn't want to go. There was no love lost between Gillian and Zoe, and Cal was well aware of that. Gillian was fairly certain that things would be awkward at best and horrible at worst, and still her gaze flickered between Emily and Cal, two of the most important people in her life, and she felt her resolve dwindling.

"Roger's going to be there." Emily said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Gillian," She said, seriously, "You have to come. You can't _not_ come! It's yours and Dad's first Thanksgiving together _together_." Emily finished.

Gillian sighed heavily and looked at both Emily and Cal, both of whom were looking at her with hopeful, expectant, wide eyes. "For the record, you two ganging up on me is _not_ fair!" She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Is that a yes?" Cal asked, still resting his elbow on the counter.

Emily was biting her lip in anticipation, "That is a tentative, I hate you both, reluctant _yes_." She said, finally, and Emily squealed and then reached her right hand out in front of her extending it toward her father. Understanding what she wanted, they exchanged an exuberant high-five.

Gillian rolled her eyes.

Emily laughed and walked over to the refrigerator, intent on pouring herself a glass of water, "And you don't hate us." Emily said as she pulled the Brita filter out of the fridge and grabbed a cup from the cupboard, "You totally love us." She said, matter-of-factly as she tilted the Brita at an angle.

As the clear liquid ran into Emily's cup, Gillian felt Cal's eyes on her and she colored under his gaze. Feeling a lump form in her throat, she swallowed hard around it and avoided his gaze. Emily, oblivious, began sipping her water.

Breaking the silence she didn't even realize had thickened with the weight of things unsaid, Emily spoke, "Is it time to eat yet?" She asked, her gaze flicking to the oven.

Thankful for the out, Gillian laughed and said, "I sure hope so, I'm starved."

Cal's gaze was still on her, and it didn't waver when he spoke, "Should be, yeah." Gillian still didn't meet his gaze. Languidly, Cal pushed himself away from the counter using his elbow, and finally—reluctantly and slowly—took his gaze off Gillian and turned it to the oven.

Emily said a quick "yes!" under her breath and grabbed the plates and silverware to set the table.

When she'd left, Cal bent over the oven to retrieve the lasagna that had been warming. He smiled when he felt Gillian's gaze on him and chuckled when he looked over his shoulder to confirm that Gillian was, in fact, staring at his ass.

"Like what you see, love?" He asked as he pulled the lasagna out of the oven.

Chuckling lightly, Gillian grabbed the napkins off the counter, and walked out of the kitchen to join Emily.

Cal sighed in relief after she'd left—Gillian would finally be spending Thanksgiving with him. He ignored the part where they'd be spending it with his ex-wife, too.

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_TBC!_

_Look ahead for football time and turkey and tension and so much more!  
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	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Welcome to Chapter Four of "A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving" brought to you by yours so very truly. Here, we have a brief little interlude in our fic-an interaction between Cal and Gillian-the most important sort of interaction if you ask me! Thank you to each and every one of you for your LOVELY reviews! :D_

_Okay, enjoy!_

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_Cal sat in his office staring intently at the computer screen in front of him. To an outsider, it would look as though he was doing some sort of work. In fact, the opposite was actually true. He was, actually, doing nothing except thinking. Gillian had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with him and he was absolutely elated about that fact. Whenever he thought of it, he began to smile and he felt a bit silly about getting excited for something so small.

However, his feelings were deeper than that really. Yes, he was excited that he'd finally get to spend the actual day of Thanksgiving with Gillian—it had been a hope of his for quite some time. But, his stomach bunched up in a giant knot when he recalled who _else _he was going to be spending Thanksgiving with—Zoe. And, of course, her fiancé. Zoe was a handful normally, but given her unusual hostility toward Gillian and the pure stress of the day itself, Cal had a bad feeling about the beast Zoe would morph into on Thursday.

So, staring at his computer screen, he felt an odd sense of calmness and panic and he was thankful for the distraction that was the beautiful Gillian Foster as she waltzed into his office.

She was wearing a navy blue dress and Cal marveled at how the color differed on her when compared to his ex-wife. On Zoe it made her look tough and serious. On Gillian, the color made her look soft and inviting. Shifting his eyes from the computer screen, he smiled at her as a greeting.

She smiled in return, and Cal couldn't help the feelings that swelled within him at the sight.

"You always catch me when I'm in the middle of working my hardest." He said, leaning back in his chair.

Catching his lie, she rolled her eyes playfully and sat down in the chair across from his desk, "I can see that," She said, indicating the blank computer screen that was barely visible from her position in the chair.

Cal grinned at her and laughed slightly. He was constantly amazed at the ways in which their banter allowed him to feel so light and carefree. It was a combination he wasn't used to feeling except in her presence.

"So, what's up?" He asked. Noticing the way her gaze flickered and worry creased her brow, Cal felt a sense of panic, "You've not come to cancel, have you?" He questioned, allowing the worry to slip into his voice.

At his face, Gillian laughed. "No, Cal. I'm not going to cancel."

Cal wiped his brow in an exaggerated display of relief. In truth, however, it actually mirrored the relief he felt. Now that Gillian was in his life in the best possible way, he did not want to spend a family holiday without her. "Well, what is it, then?"

Gillian folded her hands in her lap and considered Cal, her discomfort rather evident. She was still not entirely keen on facing the one-woman firing squad that was Zoe Landau on Thursday—particularly since Thanksgiving had always been one of her favorite holidays. "I was wondering," She said, "What I should bring on Thursday?"

Cal pulled his brow together in genuine confusion, his mind running through the possibilities. Finally, he smiled, "Just your gorgeous body will be enough, darling." He said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Gillian couldn't contain the rush of heat that flooded her body, and she felt herself begin to blush at Cal's words and at his leer. She used to despise the way her body betrayed her in that fashion, but Cal seemed to enjoy seeing the reaction he caused in her—he seemed to relish the color that spread to her cheeks, and so she had begun to hate it less.

Still, she breathed out, "Cal…" attempting to affect a warning tone—but it was too breathy given the fact that he was still gazing at her hungrily.

He shrugged, and then said, "What?" feigning complete innocence, "I'm a man in search of the truth," He said, as though it made perfect sense. To an outsider, the comment would have seemed non sequitur, but when Gillian heard it, her heart rate increased slightly and she felt emotion welling in her eyes—Cal had seen the minute flash of doubt at the word 'gorgeous,' and he was letting her know with words—and with his fiery gaze—how true he felt those words were.

She smiled at him, giving him her thanks, and she would have paused longer were it not for an impending meeting, "Seriously, Cal, what should I bring?" She asked again, the smile still playing on her face—the color slowly fading.

Cal smiled gently at her—her modesty was incredible and never ceased to amaze him. "Seriously, Gillian," He said, "Don't worry about it—Zoe'll take care of everything." He finished with a shrug.

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they had been a mistake. Gillian fixed him with a hard stare, "Thanks, _Cal_," She emphasized his name and he laughed slightly, amazed at his innate ability to say the absolute wrong thing, "But I am absolutely _not _going to show up to Thanksgiving dinner at your ex-wife's house bringing _nothing_ to the table."

Cal smiled, "You never bring nothing to the table, darling," He said, and then cleared his throat, "But, point taken."

She crossed her legs in the chair and tilted her head to the side, "So, I'll ask again—for the third time—what should I bring?"

Cal leaned even farther back in his chair and chewed on his lip slightly, deep in thought. He was rather out of practice at contributing to things in this way and he felt quite at a loss. Fixing her with a particularly cheesy grin he said, "Whatever you want?" His voice went up on the end of the phrase, indicating a question and his eyebrows shot up in unison and Gillian thought briefly how cute he looked as he thrust his palms upward.

Gillian considered his answer and Cal watched as a faraway look made its way into her eyes and a small almost reverent smile ghosted across her lips. Her tongue darted out briefly to moisten her lips and Cal watched as her facial muscles released and contracted. He felt a pang of desire watching her tongue, and then he read her face.

Suddenly, he couldn't contain the sharp burst of laughter that bubbled up and it startled Gillian out of her reverie and she jumped slightly at the sound. Not taking his eyes off of her face, Cal shook with laughter and it just kept coming until he was laughing so hard he was nearly crying.

Gillian nearly took offense, but the sight of Cal laughing so hard was rather unfamiliar to her and so she began to chuckle slightly in confusion before she finally spoke, "What?" She asked, unable to keep the smile that seeing his reaction caused.

Cal shook his head, still laughing, and Gillian repeated herself, "What?"

Taking a few steadying breaths, Cal looked her in the eyes, amusement evident in the hazel them—trying to control the smile and be serious for a minute he said, "You want to bring dessert, don't you?"

Gillian let out a sound of indignation, and she was ready to deny that her mind had just wandered to the sweet masterpieces she could create when given free reign but the look on Cal's face stopped her. He was looking at her intensely with an emotion that both thrilled and frightened her so that she had to look away. She laughed, then, her gaze on her hands in her lap, and said quietly, "Yes."

Cal's gaze still remained on her and he chuckled again, "I knew it." He said, finally.

Gillian's eyes finally met his again and he thought about how adorable she looked as hopefulness made its way into her blue.

"Dessert will be perfect, darling." He said finally, and his heart tugged at the genuine smile she gave him.

"Excellent!" She said, and she began to rise to exit but she reconsidered and sat down again, worry creasing her brow.

Cal furrowed his brow and looked at her, "What is it, love?" He asked, his voice gentle as he leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk in front of him.

Gillian swallowed as she felt nervousness assault her stomach—"Nothing…" She said.

"Nice try." Cal said, tilting his head to the left. "What is it?" He asked again.

Gillian looked at him then and Cal saw the fear in her eyes and her voice was quiet when she spoke, "Do you have Emily on Wednesday?" She queried.

Suddenly, Cal understood why she was asking—his smile was nothing short of tender to match the comforting tone in his voice when he said, "Yes, I do. And I'm sure she'd love to." Cal assured, nodding his head. "But she'll be here later—you can ask her yourself if you want."

Gillian nodded, then, and rose from her chair. As she exited his office, she turned to look back at him, "Thanks, Cal." She offered, hoping he would understand her meaning thoroughly.

It was clear to her that he absolutely did when he pulled his lips into a smile and whispered "Any time, love."

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_TBC_

_it is at this point in the fic-writing process that I begin to tire! But I'll do my best to keep plugging away!  
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	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Whatevs. Here's chapter 4._

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Gillian felt her stomach tighten in nerves as she watched the clock on Wednesday afternoon. Cal had given everyone—including her—the day off because it was so close to the holiday. She had spent the morning preparing the things she and Emily would be baking that afternoon.

Gillian had asked Emily on Monday if she'd like to help her bake desserts for Thanksgiving dinner and Emily had excitedly accepted. The teenager's enthusiasm had been adorable and had thrilled Gillian to no end.

So, as Gillian sat watching the clock, running her palms up and down on her jeans, she tried to fathom why she was so nervous. It was Cal's daughter—it was Emily—Gillian loved Emily—and perhaps that was the root of the problem. Gillian didn't have time to consider it very closely because mid-reverie a knock came at the door.

Gillian opened the door with a smile to find Cal and Emily on her doorstep. Emily was grinning clad in a pink pea coat and Cal was standing next to her smiling as well.

"Hello, darling," he said as he stepped into Gillian's house—as he passed her by, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. She returned the kiss and waited for Emily to enter before closing the door.

"Hi, Gill!" Emily said, unraveling the pale blue scarf she had around her neck and laying it on the sofa. She began unbuttoning her coat.

"Hi, Em." Gillian returned with a warm smile.

Emily slid her jacket off and laid it on the arm of the couch next to her scarf, "I'm so excited!" She said, turning to face Gillian.

"I am, too." Gillian returned, and then she looked at Cal, "Will you be staying to help us out?" She asked him.

Cal looked between Gillian and his daughter, "Well, I wasn't aware I was invited." He said, affecting a hurt tone.

"You weren't!" Emily said before dissolving into laughter.

Cal looked at her, "Hey!" He said, pointing a finger, "That's not very nice." Emily shrugged and simply laughed some more.

"You're welcome to stay," Gillian said with a light laugh, enjoying the light heartedness of the exchange between father and daughter.

"Nah, can't." Cal said, grinning at Gillian, "I've got to go shopping!" He explained.

"Shopping?" Gillian questioned, raising her eyebrows.

Cal nodded, "Yeah, you know, I've got to pick up some things for Thanksgiving dinner." He said, shrugging slightly.

Gillian's lips curved into a smile, "Cal, Thanksgiving is _tomorrow_." She emphasized the word, commenting on his procrastination.

Emily took a step forward and rolled her eyes, "Yeah, Dad _always_ waits until the last minute." She said.

"Huh." Gillian said, making a face, "Imagine that."

"Oh, now don't you start, too." He said, pointing a finger at Gillian. He extended his finger until it brushed her bottom lip and Gillian nearly shuddered at the contact and the gentleness in his eyes. "Well, I'll be off, then." He said, not taking his eyes off Gillian's. Removing his finger, he leant forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips, and then smiled at her.

Gillian returned the smile, and felt a warmth beginning in her stomach.

"Goodbye, darling," he said, his face still close to hers. Finally, he turned his gaze to Emily who was watching the exchange with a wide smile, "Bye, Em." He said, and then he turned the handle of the door and opened it slightly, "Be good." He offered, looking at his daughter. Emily rolled her eyes, and Cal let his gaze flicker between Gillian and Emily, "Both of you." He clarified a grin making its way onto his face.

Gillian chuckled, "There's icing and lots of sugar," she said, "No promises."

Cal laughed, then, and walked down the pathway to his car, "See you in a few hours, then." He called with a wave and Gillian shut the door and clicked the lock into place.

Turning around to face Emily, she saw the teenager was donning a very adorable, very wide smile—"Ready?" Gillian asked, and Emily enthusiastically nodded as they made their way into Gillian's kitchen.

When Emily saw the expanse of items sitting on Gillian's kitchen counter, she nearly shrieked, "Oh my god! Look at all this stuff!" She said, "This is going to be _so much fun_!" She stated.

Gillian smiled and laughed lightly at Emily's obvious excitement. Inside, she felt her nerves begin to soothe themselves. In Gillian's kitchen was an array of food items—homemade cookie dough, cake batter and, of course, plenty of pumpkin.

"Where do we start?" Emily asked.

Gillian walked over to a particular area of the kitchen—"I was thinking we'd start with pumpkin cheesecake. Sound good?"

Emily nodded and followed Gillian over to the sink where they both washed their hands and prepared to begin baking.

Conversation flowed easily between them as Gillian showed Emily how to make various desserts and as Emily told Gillian about some drama at school and about the new boy she thought she liked and whom she thought might kind of like her. Gillian reveled in the ease of the chatter and the warmth that situated itself inside her heart when she gave Emily advice about this new boy. She could tell that Emily trusted her and valued her opinion—on everything, really. On boys, on dessert, and the knowledge made her quite happy.

Emily and Gillian were scooping cookie dough onto a cookie sheet.

"There's going to be _so _much dessert!" Emily squealed, "We usually only have, like, one pumpkin pie." She said, wrinkling her nose.

"You can never have too much dessert," Gillian said, but her voice wavered slightly and an awkward expression came across her face. Emily couldn't read precisely what it was, but she knew something about it was off.

"What's wrong?" She asked, suddenly.

Gillian smiled, "Nothing." She lied.

Emily laughed as she scooped another spoonful of dough onto the sheet, "Yeah, right. I saw your face—what's wrong?" She questioned again.

Gillian laughed this time, shaking her head slightly, "You _are _your father's daughter, aren't you?" It was a rhetorical question and Emily shrugged lightly. Sighing, Gillian dug her spoon into the mixing bowl, "I'm just nervous about Thursday is all."

Emily looked at her, "Why?"

Gillian fixed her with a look, "Emily, you know why." She said, taking in Emily's wide-eyed innocence.

Emily giggled, "Yeah, I guess." She shrugged again, sliding another spoonful onto the tray, "But you really don't have to be. It'll be okay."

Gillian laughed at this, "I sure hope you're right." She finished, and she picked up the tray and moved it to the oven, but her thoughts turned to Zoe and she had to admit that she wasn't entirely confident that Emily was, in fact, correct.

Walking over to the sink to wash the dough off of her hands Emily continued speaking, "I know you're worried about my Mom, and I know she can be a bit…" Emily trailed off as she turned the sink on, looking for the appropriate word. Unable to find it, she said, "_whatever_, but" She said pointedly as she stuck her hands under the faucet and began to rub them together, "Dad loves you." She said.

Gillian's breath caught in her throat when Emily's words finally hit her ears—she fumbled the oven door closed, having set the cookies on the rack. At Gillian's silence, Emily turned around to look at her. Turning the faucet off, Emily laughed—

"He _does_, Gillian." She said, reaching for a handtowel.

Gillian finally found her voice, "I don't—I'm not sure—that's…" Gillian faltered and Emily turned around to face her and rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. You know he _so _does." She said.

Gillian turned around and busied herself with the kitchen timer, refusing to answer Emily and deciding to change the subject, "By the way," She said, punching the buttons on the timer, "We never really talked about…" She trailed off and turned around to face Emily.

Emily was leaned against the counter looking at her expectantly, "Talked about what?" She prompted.

Gillian smiled, feeling the nerves return to her stomach, "About how you feel about…it." She finished, waving her hand in front of her, "You know—about your dad and me." She said, clarifying.

Emily laughed, "I thought you already knew!" She said. At Gillian's look, Emily continued, "I've always said all I've ever really wanted was my dad to be happy." She said, looking at Gillian who smiled, "But, truthfully," She said, and Emily's eyes began to mist slightly with unexpected emotion, "All I really wanted was him to be happy—" She paused and tilted her head to the side, looking at Gillian, "With _you_." She finished.

The distinction and the emotion with which Emily relayed this bit of truth was not lost on Gillian and she felt it begin to well in her eyes. Squeezing them shut tightly, she tried to blink back the tears—"Emily," She said, her voice wrought with emotion.

"It's true." Emily said, taking a step toward Gillian, "You're the best person in the world for him and I'm sorry I never said before how _happy_ I am that you guys finally figured something out." Smiling, Emily stepped closer to Gillian and reached her hands out—embracing one another into a hug that made Gillian's heart swell with unabashed happiness.

When they finally pulled away from one another, they both had tears in their eyes and they laughed a little bit—

Gillian wiped her eyes a little bit and then asked, "Well, what's next?"

Emily's eyes shone as she answered, "Cupcakes!" in the same excited vein in which she began the afternoon.

After four hours of baking, Gillian's house smelled delicious and her kitchen was laden with treats of all different varieties. Gillian and Emily sat on the couch in Gillian's living room making idle conversation about a book that they both happened to have read when there was a knock at the door.

"That'll be your dad." Gillian explained as she got off the couch to open the door.

Gillian swung the door open to see Cal dressed in a black coat holding two plastic bags in his hands. "Hello, love." He said as he entered her house for the second time that day.

"Hi, dad!" Emily said from her position on the couch.

"Bloody hell, the smell of this place alone could give a cavity!" He said, setting the bags on the coffee table and beginning to unbutton his coat, "Did you girls have fun?" He asked as he laid his coat over the arm of Gillian's couch.

Emily nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!" She said, and Cal smiled as he went over and kissed her on the forehead, "Gillian's an incredible baker!" She said.

"Gillian?" He said, "Incredible at something she does? Shocking!" He said, his eyes focusing on Gillian. She was sitting on the couch and beginning to eye the plastic bags he'd brought, but she smiled and laughed at his comment nonetheless. "Chinese." He said, answering her silent question. "I brought Chinese for dinner—hope you ladies didn't fill up entirely on sweets!"

Gillian laughed, "No," She said, "We didn't. And actually, now that I think about it, I'm quite hungry." She finished.

Cal grinned.

"Me, too!" Emily said, reaching for the bags on the table.

They ate in quiet conversation and Cal couldn't help but feel satisfied in more ways than just the one as he watched his daughter and Gillian. He felt something pulling at his stomach every time Gillian spoke—every time he caught her eye he felt his heart tugging slightly and he couldn't help but smile. The warmth radiated throughout his body until he finally identified the feeling—_happiness_, pure happiness.

When they had finished and it had grown late, Cal said, "Well, Em, I suppose we should go, yeah?"

With a yawn, she nodded and began to rise from the couch. She shrugged her jacket on and Cal followed suit. Gillian rose and went near the door to see them out. Cal and Emily made their way to the door, and paused.

"Do me a favor, Em?" He asked, and she nodded then looked at him expectantly. Taking his keys out of his pocket, he handed them to her, "Warm up the car, love?" He said, and grinned at her.

Emily nodded enthusiastically, a silly grin plastered on her face as she understood his meaning. She took the keys and headed out the door, "Bye, Gill!" She said.

When Emily had made it down the walkway and into the car, Cal smirked at Gillian, "Now that she's gone," He said, his voice deep. Without warning, his hand snaked out and grasped the back of Gillian's head, drawing her in for a passionate kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she moaned involuntarily against him, and slid her hands up his spine—the noise she made and the feel of her warmth against his body, even through his coat, made him grin and kiss her harder. Finally, they broke away, "I'll come by around noon tomorrow?" He said, his eyes dark, his pupils dilated with desire, matching Gillian's.

Gillian nodded, momentarily speechless.

"We'll spend a little time together before we face the firing squad." He said, laughing lightly. "Bye, darling." He kissed her on the cheek and walked down the walkway to be greeted by a grinning Emily in his passenger's seat.

Gillian closed the door behind him and leaned her back against it. Her heart fluttered as she brought her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the butterflies that had settled there.

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_TBC_

Talk- or don't.

BAI.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello! And Happy Thanksgiving to all! Someday I'll finish a fic on time, I swear it. Anyway- here is chapter 5 of A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving!_

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Cal showed up at Gillian's house at exactly 12:03PM. He was wearing jeans and a dark navy blue long sleeved shirt that brought out the bits of blue in his normally hazel eyes. Grinning—partly in anticipation, partly because of nervousness for the day to come, Cal knocked three times on Gillian's door.

She opened it smiling widely at him, but he read her face and knew that happiness wasn't the only emotion that she felt at that particular moment.

"Hello, love." Cal said, leaning in toward Gillian, "Happy Thanksgiving," He offered as he brushed his lips against hers. It was a light kiss, which she returned, but an electricity passed between them and Cal pulled away, still smiling.

"Hello, Cal," Gillian returned, an amused smile playing on her face. "Come in," She said, but he was already moving before she finished the phrase. He strode confidently into her living room and sat down on the couch with an exhalation.

She sat down in a chair catty corner from the couch and looked at him. She took in his clean shaven appearance, the wash of his jeans, the way his shirt fit him just right and she felt her breath catch in her throat as a wave of heat passed over her. Cal, reading her reaction, grinned devilishly at her.

"What?" She said, a small smile playing on her face.

"Nothing," He said, shaking his head, "I just like watching you react to me." He said with a light shrug.

Gillian laughed lightly and then rolled her eyes, "Why does that not surprise me?" She said, leaning back casually in the chair.

"Oi!" Cal said, leaning forward on the couch, "Are you calling me a narcissist?" He asked, his voice affecting offense.

"Something like that." She responded, and then she pursed her lips.

"Hm." He considered, and then he let his gaze sweep over her. She was wearing dark washed jeans that, even from her seated position in the chair, Cal could tell absolutely hugged every one of her delicious curves in exactly the right spot and a red long sleeved button up blouse with ruffles down the front—it made her look sophisticated, clean and sexy all at once. Cal's eyes raked down her body taking in her tall black leather boots that had no heel, and then he let out a little noise and returned his gaze to her face, meeting her eyes—then, Cal allowed everything she made him feel seep into his eyes.

At the look that passed over face—one of recognition and, Cal discovered, pleasure, Cal laughed, "I see you like watching me react to you, as well." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Gillian cleared her throat and then crossed her legs, right over left, brought her left elbow to the arm of the chair and rested her cheek on it. Cal watched the way her hair, which held a soft curl, fell around her hand before she spoke, "So, are you ready for today?" She asked, her eyes searching.

Cal tilted his head to the right and his gaze flicked over her face—squinting at her, his voice was gentle when he asked, "Are _you _ready for today, darling?"

Cal watched her posture shift almost imperceptibly and he nearly felt bad at how uncomfortable even the thought of today made her. "I'm not sure." She responded honestly, but Cal watched as something flickered behind her eyes.

Were she anyone else—and were he—he might have let it go. But he felt immediate concern rush through his body, "What is it, Foster?" He asked.

Gillian sighed and took her head off her hand. She folded her hands in her lap and then looked at him, "I'm tired of bad or awkward Thanksgivings." She said, finally, meeting his gaze.

Cal raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"Thanksgiving when I was a child was an absolutely horrible holiday." She said, shaking her head slightly, "Suffice to say dad was drunk, mom was angry, and everyone else was fighting—" Cal nodded his head, understanding that that was the end of that particular conversation, and really, he didn't need to know more. "Then, when I got married, we went to Alec's family's house for Thanksgiving—and that was just weird and, well, awkward. They were nice enough, I guess, but they never really went out of their way to include me in anything. They wouldn't let me help cook or even clean, so I felt pretty much useless." She shrugged before she continued, "It was just more uncomfortable than anything else," She clarified, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. She sighed, "Last year was the first Thanksgiving I had by myself. And yeah, I was alone, but at least I didn't have to worry about people screaming at or in front of me, I didn't have to worry about feeling uncomfortable—I got to cook myself a nice lovely meal, relax with a few glasses of wine and a good book and go to bed early." She finished.

Cal nodded, "I'm sorry, love." He said.

She met his eyes, thinking he was apologizing for her childhood or something else—she raised her eyebrow, "For what?" She asked, needing clarification.

"I'm selfish sometimes—" Cal smiled, "All the time, actually." He amended, "I should've considered more closely your feelings," He continued, "but this is our first Thanksgiving _together_," he emphasized the word so she understood his meaning, "And I just wanted to spend it with you—I'm sorry." He said, thrusting his palms out in front of him.

Gillian smiled, then, "No, Cal, I wanted to spend it with you, too." She assured, "And I know that Zoe is your ex-wife and she's always going to be a part of your life—but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish there were another way." She said finally, a grin spreading across her face.

"And I'd know it if you did, anyway," He said, laughing at his own little joke, "We'll make the best of it, Gillian. Who knows—maybe it won't be so bad." He leered slightly at her, "We can hold hands under the table." He waggled his eyebrows.

At his words, Gillian burst out laughing. Cal looked at her with confusion etched in his face, "What did I say?" He asked.

Gillian shook her head, "Nothing." She said. He fixed her with a hard gaze and she rolled her eyes, "You just accidentally quoted another one of my favorite holiday movies," She said.

Cal smiled, "More Peanuts?" He asked.

Gillian nodded her head, "You know me too well." She said, uncrossing her legs.

"I'd like to think so," Cal said, smiling at her. Only then did he take notice of the screen in front of them. He'd expected her to be watching the parade or something, but he looked in front of her to see men in uniforms with heavy padding underneath.

"Oh, don't tell me you watch this bloody _sport_!" Cal said, groaning.

Gillian smiled, "Why, yes—" She said, "Yes, I do. And it's fabulous," She said, turning her attention to the television.

Cal laughed at the enthusiasm that was evident on her face, "Perhaps I don't know you as well as I thought." He said.

Gillian raised her eyebrows and there was a hint of suggestion in her voice when she offered her reply, "Perhaps you don't."

Gillian's gaze flicked back to the television and her attention remained there. Cal watched her watching the screen and he was completely and utterly bemused by it. She would occasionally curse under her breath when a referee made a bad call or a player from her side made an error.

Cal watched her for a while, and then turned his attention to the television. He tried to watch—really, he did. But he just couldn't get into it. Finally, the announcer announced that it was time for halftime.

"Took bloody long enough," Cal said.

Gillian looked at him then, amusement in her eyes. She didn't say anything, though, just pursed her lips in a smile that Cal found to be completely cute.

"I mean, really, you watch this…" He trailed off, "This… _crap_?" He asked, gesturing wildly toward the T.V.

Gillian feigned hurt, "Why, yes, Cal, I do!" She said, and then she leaned back in her chair, "What, may I ask, is so wrong with football?"

Cal scoffed, "Well, to start, the _bloody name_ is just the beginning of what's wrong with it. Leave it to you Americans to take a sport where you throw the ball with your _hands_, tackle blokes with your _hands_, carry the ball with your bloody _hands_—A sport in which _one person_ from each side kicks the ball _maybe _seven or eight times a game—and name it _foot_ball—" Cal shook his head, and then scoffed again, "Makes perfect bloody sense!" He rolled his eyes.

Gillian was trying to bite back her smile, "And what do _you _call it?"

"Rugby for pussies." Cal said, grinning. "And then it takes a bloody year and a half for them to finish the game!" Cal put his hand on his chin as though he was deep in contemplation of the many shortcomings of American football—"Oh! And don't get me started on their _dances_ or whatever after they've scored a touchdown."

Gillian laughed then and interrupted his tirade, "Wait a minute," She said, leaning forward slightly and waving her hand, "Wait just a minute, Cal. I have _seen_ some of the _soccer _matches," She emphasized the word to irk him, "you love so much and let me tell you—you have _no _room to make fun of the celebratory measures our football players take after a goal." She said, laughing.

Cal smiled at her, "Touché."

She considered him then and tilted her head to the right, "Have you ever played?" She asked.

"Rugby for pussies?" He asked, she laughed, rolled her eyes and then nodded, "Uh, no." He said, shaking his head.

Gillian's eyes sparkled, "Do you want to?"

Cal thrust his chin out at her and narrowed his eyes, "Do you mean in general?" He asked, "Or do you mean with you?" He tilted his head, "Because in general, absolutely not. But," He said, his voice soft and full of innuendo, "There are things few and far in between I'd not like to do with you."

Gillian smiled, and desire passed over her face at his words, "With me." She said, "Always with me." Her eyes sparkled, "Let's play a little bit—"

Cal looked at her, "Really? It's bloody cold outside, Gillian."

"So?" She said, mischief in her eyes. "Alec had a ball and I think it's around here somewhere, actually," She said.

Cal couldn't control the look that came across his face at the mention of Gillian's ex-husband's name. Seeing it, Gillian laughed and then rose from her seat to go retrieve the ball. "Of course Alec would play," He muttered under his breath, and Gillian knew precisely what he meant by saying it and she shook her head then ascended the stairs.

Moments later, she returned, holding a football in her hands. Cal raised his eyebrow as she descended the stairs, "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," He said drily, and she shoved the football at his chest as she walked past him, leading him outside.

When they were in her backyard, Gillian stood a few feet away from Cal, "Let's toss the ball back and forth to get warmed up," She said, and Cal watched as her breath became visible.

He laughed, "Alright," He said as he gripped the ball and threw it to her. It did not go in at all the direction he had planned and Gillian suppressed a laugh as she retrieved the ball and brought it back over to him.

"Cal," She said, "You want to line your fingers up like this," She said, showing him her grasp on the ball, "With the laces." She said, and Cal marveled at how small and delicate her hands looked gripping the football. He took it from her and placed his hand in the way that she had, "Good," She said, and she placed her hand over his, adjusting his grip slightly.

Despite the cold outside, Cal felt a surge of warmth at her delicate touch.

Smiling, she walked back over to her position and Cal threw the ball again. This time, it was more on target. Gillian caught it and threw it back. They continued on for several minutes, Gillian smiling and Cal enjoying the way her smile lit up her face and did something to his stomach that he absolutely couldn't explain.

"Should we play now?" She asked.

Cal waggled his eyebrows and Gillian giggled, before his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "How do we do that, though?" He asked, "There's only two of us."

Gillian smiled, "Please, Cal," She said, "I could play with myself."

Cal couldn't contain the smirk that came across his face. Her comment had, of course, been innocent, but he couldn't help but conjure images of Gillian doing exactly that, and the look on his face told her as much.

Gillian, realizing her mistake, colored. "No, not like _that_!" She said, and then her gaze darkened slightly, "Well, yes, sometimes like that," She said, grinning at him.

Cal felt a stirring in his groin at her words and the imagery she provoked.

"What we'll do is this," She said, holding the ball to her chest as she spoke, "One person will snap the ball—" At his look of confusion she laughed, "Pass the ball behind to the other person and then run ahead as though they were on offence—but," She said, "Then that person will switch to defense and the person with the ball will try to outmaneuver the other for a touchdown, which will be when the person gets to that tree," She said, her slender finger indicating a tree several feet away from them. "Sound good?"

Cal smiled, "Sure," He didn't give a damn one way or the other, but he could see it made her happy, so he was glad to do it.

She smiled at him—"Alright," She said, "I'll snap the ball first. Get behind me,"

Cal positioned himself behind Gillian, "You're changing my perception about this game already, darling." He said, grinning.

She smiled at him, "Just wait." She said, waggling her eyebrows at him over her shoulder. She grabbed the ball and then bent over, crouching her knees slightly, allowing Cal a perfect view of her ass.

"Bloody hell Foster," He said, his eyes fixed on her—he smiled—he had been right: those jeans hugged her in all the right places. He reached out and put his hand on her, smoothing his hand over the curve of her body. She laughed lightly and inhaled sharply at his touch—"I could really get to liking this sport," He said, finally removing his hand.

Still laughing, she snapped the ball back to him and he caught it. She darted out in front of him and then turned around.

They played for a few minutes each switching positions—neither one really scoring. Cal didn't mind and neither did Gillian—despite his distaste for the silliness Americans laughingly called a sport, he was having fun outside with Gillian watching her carefree smile and feeling her hands on him trying to tackle him. He enjoyed the way she allowed him to put his hands on her and he nearly couldn't believe that there had been a time where they didn't touch like this.

It was his turn to snap the ball and he was crouched down in front of her.

"You're right," She said from behind him, "This _is_ a nice view," She commented, before she reached her hand up and lightly touched Cal's butt—it was hardly a touch, but Cal felt his blood change directions and his groin immediately tighten as he thought of Gillian touching him.

He ran out in front of her after snapping the ball, and then turned around. She was clutching the ball to her chest, trying to discern which way would be easiest for her to go around Cal—but Cal had different plans. He had a near predatory look in his eyes as he rushed upon her. Grabbing her by the waist, he didn't miss the look of surprise she exhibited when he used his weight to pull her down to the ground.

Spinning her around so that he landed on his back and she landed on top of him, his grip tightened around her as they crashed to the ground.

Gillian laughed, her breathing heavy, "Cal!" She exclaimed—but before she'd even gotten the word out, Cal had manipulated them so that Gillian's back was flat against the ground and Cal was holding her down with his body, pinning her legs with one of his—his arm draped across her body, pinning her right arm down with his left, supporting himself on his elbow, placed next to her head. With his right hand, he brushed the hair that had fallen into her face out of the way.

"I think," He said, bringing his face down to hers so that his breath danced upon her face, "That I just outmaneuvered you, love." He said.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he smiled quickly and then brought his mouth down to hers. He felt her acquiesce to his seeking tongue, and she moaned against him. Cal felt his stomach leap as her taste flooded into his mouth. He ran his tongue along hers, enjoying the way she felt—her tongue felt soft and warm, and the weight of her body pinned beneath him felt like home. Gillian kissed him back, and her free hand came to rest at the back of his head. She curled her fingers into his hair and then she deepened the kiss—a feat that Cal had not thought possible. He groaned against her and felt his arousal course through him as her tongue darted into his mouth. She pulled it out to bite his lower lip lightly before kissing him again. Finally, she pulled away.

Cal's breathing was heavy and his pupils were dilated. His leg still held Gillian in place as did his arm—Gillian's eyes danced as she looked up at him, enjoying his weight on her, enjoying the cool grass on her back, enjoying the ravenous look he was giving her, "Actually," She said, her voice husky, "I think I just outmaneuvered _you_."

Cal smiled devilishly then and bent his head again. His gaze darkened considerably and she felt his breath on her lips, and shuddered, "I think not." He said, and his lips were against hers when he spoke again, "Consider this my touchdown dance, darling," He said, and his tongue sought hers again only to find it ready and waiting as she arched her body into his.

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_TBC_

_Two chapters left- the next chapter you'll see Zoe and it'll be Thanksgiving Dinner! I considered abandoning this part of the story, but I just couldn't do it. Sorry. :)_

_Hopefully I'll be finished with the last two chapters in a timely fashion! :)_

_-Natalie  
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	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hello! And welcome to the penultimate chapter of A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving. This chapter has not even been looked over upon leaving my fingers, so if there are typos and the like, I do apologize, but I also kiiiinda don't care. :D This chapter miiiight not be what all of you were expecting, but it WAS what I had planned on from the beginning._

_Writing this fic is rough-I've had a rough couple of days. So if you're inclined to be mean because the chapter isn't what you'd hoped-don't be. :) Thanks! :D_

_Chapter 6 - A Cal Lightman Thanksgiving  
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Cal and Gillian finished their football game by making out for a solid twenty minutes, their hands wandering over each other's bodies before they finally went inside and prepared to head over to Zoe's house.

Cal went into Gillian's kitchen and surveyed the various desserts she and Emily had baked—"Gill," He called, "How are we going to get all of these bloody things over there?"

Frowning, she entered her kitchen. "I hadn't really thought about it."

Cal looked at her, "My car's full of that audio equipment for the Sanderson case—there's just room for you, love." He said, his eyes shining.

Gillian tapped her fingers against the counter, "And my car only seats two," She said, smiling. "I guess we'll just have to take separate cars?" Gillian said, the end of her sentence rising indicating it was a suggestion.

Cal shrugged, "I suppose that works." He said, laughing as he picked up two desserts and headed for the car, "These smell delicious," He said. Gillian laughed, picking up a plate of cookies and a pie, "But, then, I'd expect nothing less from you," Cal said, waggling his eyebrows as he walked out of the kitchen.

Gillian shook her head and followed him with a smile.

* * *

Gillian and Cal made their way up Zoe's walk, each holding dessert in their hands. Cal looked over at Gillian and offered her a reassuring smile—

"Just remember to breathe, love." He said, chuckling lightly.

Gillian rolled her eyes as she felt nervousness overtake her. Cal watched as the feeling passed across her face and he shot her a sympathetic glance. "It's only a few hours," He said, nodding.

Cal balanced the desserts on his arm and raised his hand—knocking at the door, he felt a familiar sense of dread. Since his divorce, Thanksgiving had always given him pause and while Gillian usually acted as a calming agent to him, he couldn't help but feel as though he were about to step into a battle zone.

Emily opened the door, a bright smile on her face—"Dad!" She exclaimed, and took the desserts from Gillian's hands, "Gill!" She said, opening the door wider for them to enter the house. Setting the desserts on the table, Emily threw her arms around Gillian and embraced her in a hug—"Happy Thanksgiving!" She said as she released her and turned her attention to her father.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Gillian returned with a slight smile, but Cal didn't miss the slight look of discomfort she had plastered on her face.

Gillian felt awkward already, as though she shouldn't be hugging Emily in Zoe's house—Cal tried to catch her attention to offer her reassurance, but she was focused on examining her surroundings, taking in the modern décor of Zoe's abode.

Cal took in Emily's apparel—light blue sweatpants and a gray long sleeved shirt, "I see you've got your Thanksgiving pants on," Cal said, wagging his finger at her.

Emily beamed at him, "Yep." She said, laughing, she looked between Gillian, "I'm going to _destroy_ some stuffing," She said, matter-of-factly, before she began heading into the living room, her brown ponytail swaying behind her, "Come on," She said, motioning to Cal and Gillian.

Gillian laughed and looked at Cal, raising an eyebrow. "Stuffing's her favorite." He explained with a shrug before he reached to take Gillian's coat from her shoulders. He squeezed her lightly on the shoulders before he began to help her take it off—as he slid the coat off her shoulders, he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled sharply, enjoying her scent. Feeling his proximity, Gillian smiled and she felt a bit of the nervousness dissipate—she was with Cal. Perhaps things would be alright after all.

Emily peeked her head around the corner, "Come _on_," She said.

Cal laughed and hung Gillian's coat on the rack, "Coming, Little Miss Bossy," He said. Emily giggled and turned away—

Cal and Gillian followed her down the hall. As they were walking, Cal nudged Gillian lightly with his shoulder, his playfulness earning him a smile.

Emily led them into the living room—

When Cal and Gillian turned the corner, they saw a man with dark brown hair sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV.

"Roger," Emily said, and the man turned to look at her, raising his eyebrows slightly—Emily smiled at him, "This," She said, indicating Cal with her hands, "Is my dad, Cal Lightman," She said as Roger stood up and rounded the couch, "and this is Gillian, his…" Emily trailed off, her face suddenly worried—Cal nearly laughed at the way it was quite nearly a study in panic, "…this is Gillian." Emily finished, coloring slightly.

Roger stood in front of Cal and Gillian and offered his hand first to Cal, who took it and shook it good naturedly, "Cal!" Roger said, grasping Cal's elbow as he shook his hand, "Pleasure to finally meet you." He said.

Cal smiled, back at him, "Same here." Cal replied.

Roger then turned his attention to Gillian, "Gillian," He said, a warm smile crossing his face, "Lovely to meet you," He said, extending his hand.

Cal watched the exchange intently, focusing on Roger's face. Roger stood at approximately five feet eleven inches, so Cal had to look up to do so. But Cal watched as a slight flicker of arousal passed over Roger's face. Despite the fact that Cal knew that it was absolutely harmless and that it was no more than the male response to an attractive woman, Cal clenched his fists at his side and struggled to quell an immense sense of rage that coursed through him.

Cal's face fell to Gillian as she took Roger's proffered hand into hers, "Nice to meet you, too, Roger," She said, smiling. The smile she gave was genuine, Cal noticed, but he saw no flicker from Gillian, and he expelled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Roger's eyes darted back to the television—"Cal, are you a fan?" He asked, nodding his head in the direction of the television.

Cal directed his attention to the television and saw another football game and pursed his lips, "I wasn't—" he said, but then his lips curved into a smile, "but after today," he said, looking intently at Gillian, "I don't mind it so much." His tone caused Gillian to color slightly, and Roger chuckled lightly, not really understanding, but guessing near correctly what had changed Cal's mind.

Just then, a noise came from behind them—Cal and Gillian turned around to see Zoe, who cleared her throat.

Gillian flushed deeper when she saw the look on Zoe's face, which indicated that she had heard everything that had just been said—_and_ she understood the innuendo.

"Hello." Zoe said from the doorway of the kitchen.

"Hello, Zo." Cal said, while Gillian acknowledged her greeting by nodding her head and accompanying it with a small smile. "Happy Thanksgiving," He said, as he walked over to where she stood and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Zoe pressed her lips together tightly before she responded, "Indeed." She said, her voice tight, "I trust you all have met," She remarked, allowing her gaze to flicker between Roger, Cal and Gillian—though her gaze spent significantly less time on Gillian.

"We have," Roger said, his eyes still on the television.

"Good." Zoe said. Suddenly, her eyes fell to the desserts that Emily was busy arranging on a side table. "Gillian," Zoe said, with a forced smile, "Thanks so much for making dessert."

Gillian smiled at Zoe, "Oh, sure." She responded, meeting Zoe's gaze and allowing warmth to slip into her eyes—Gillian learned long ago that it was impossible to fight Zoe with anger or coldness—Zoe would win at that game every single time. What really unnerved Zoe was kindness, and that was one of Gillian's strongest suits.

"Cal." Zoe said, "A little help in the kitchen, please."

A particularly loud cheer from the television had Gillian turning her head toward the football game, and Cal smiled—"Go on, love." He said, indicating toward the couch. Gillian smiled at him and took a seat next to Roger—Emily sat down next to her and they began talking lightly in between plays.

"This is sufficiently awkward." Zoe said, as she checked the temperature on the turkey.

Cal shrugged, "Doesn't have to be." He said simply.

"Like hell it doesn't." Zoe said, stirring the mashed potatoes on the stove.

"You're fretting." Cal said, smiling at her.

"Shut up." She said.

"Is it almost ready?" Cal asked, changing the subject.

Zoe glared at him, "Yes." She said, "In fact, you can go ahead and take the turkey out of the oven now."

Normally, Cal would have turned Zoe's comment into some sort of double entendre, but things were different now—Gillian was in the other room talking with his daughter on one of the most important family holidays there was. Zoe didn't miss the fact that Cal said nothing as he grabbed two oven mitts, walked over to the oven, opened it and extracted the turkey.

Zoe called from the kitchen, "Emily! Set the table, please, it's nearly time to eat."

Emily and Gillian came through the door, at Zoe's look, Gillian shrugged, "I'll help."

Zoe couldn't contain the look of exasperation that crossed her face, but she turned around and busied herself with the yams.

"Zoe." Cal said, when Emily and Gillian had collected the place settings and left, "You've got to at least _try _to be civil." He said, his voice gentle.

Zoe sighed, "I'm _trying_." She said, turning off the burners.

"Try harder." Cal said.

Zoe did roll her eyes then. "Fine."

* * *

The meal was relatively quiet and peaceable—with Roger and Cal doing most of the talking. They got along famously, which Gillian could tell actually really irked Zoe.

Actually, nearly everything that happened was irking Zoe, and Gillian couldn't help but feel a little bubble of humor at that particular thought even as she felt the tension in the room growing by the minute.

When everyone was done eating, Roger unintentionally and unknowingly opened a can of worms. He leaned back in his chair, and said casually,

"So, Cal, how did you and Gillian meet?"

Gillian saw Zoe tense out of the corner of her eye and she nearly cringed—even eight years later, this was a sore spot for Zoe.

"At the Pentagon." Cal said, shrugging, and then he went into the details of precisely _how _they had met.

"Wow," Roger mused, "That's incredible," He said, a genuine smile spread across his face.

"Isn't it though?" Zoe said, sarcasm dripping from her words as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Gillian couldn't tell whether Roger missed the tone in Zoe's voice or whether he simply chose to ignore its warning quality (although she hoped it was the latter because the tone was certainly hard to miss), but either way he decided to delve deeper into the conversation instead of getting out while the water was still shallow.

"So, you guys began as partners and now you're…" Roger trailed off, genuinely curious. Nothing had really been explained to him, so he thought he'd go to the source.

Cal suddenly felt very uncomfortable as he felt all eyes in the room—including Emily's—shift to him. He wasn't sure why everyone felt this intense desire to put a name on whatever he and Gillian were.

Correctly reading the look on his face, Zoe spoke, "Yes, now you're…what, exactly?" Zoe inquired, a smirk spreading across her face.

Gillian watched as Cal faltered—his brain searching for a word.

Emily, sensing the rising tension, took matters into her own hands, "Well!" She said, injecting extra cheer into her voice, "Time for dessert!" She said, rising from her chair.

Gillian followed suit, and they went into the living room to collect the desserts while Cal shot daggers at Zoe and Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Emily and Gillian brought the desserts in one by one and set them on the table as Gillian simultaneously cleared everyone's plates.

"This is quite the assortment." Roger remarked, taking in the expanse of desserts that graced on the table before him.

Cal finally tore his angry gaze from Zoe and tried to relax it a little bit as he focused on Roger, "Gillian's quite the baker," Cal said, offering a small smile.

Cal heard Zoe say something under her breath and nearly said something to her, but stopped when he saw Emily and Gillian return from the kitchen carrying dessert plates and serving utensils.

"Alright, everyone," Emily said, smiling as she took her seat—Gillian slid into her seat next to Cal, "Dig in." Emily said.

Cal was the first to reach for a plate—he retrieved two and set one down in front of Gillian. She looked at him and offered a small smile of gratitude. He winked at her in a way that let her know that he knew with absolute certainty how excited she was to partake in dessert festivities. She beamed at him.

Everyone ate his or her dessert silently until Roger broke the silence,

"This pumpkin cheesecake is delicious," He said as he held a forkful up to his mouth, "You _made _this?" He asked, his tone near incredulity.

Gillian smiled and nodded—and Emily laughed, "Yep. She made the whole thing." She said around a mouthful of cookie, "From scratch." She added, still smiling.

Gillian laughed, "Emily helped." She said, shrugging lightly.

Cal saw Zoe's gaze narrow and darken as what could only be accurately described as anger passed across her face.

"Oh, really?" She said, her gaze focused on Cal although it occasionally flickered to Gillian.

"Yes, really." Cal said, rolling his eyes.

"Kitchen?" Zoe said, her tone heavy as she looked at Cal.

Cal shook his head, "No thanks, darling." He said as he dipped his fork into his pumpkin pie. Bringing the fork to his mouth, he slipped it in his mouth and chewed—"This really is delicious, love." He said, looking at Gillian.

Gillian, though, had stopped eating, an uneasy feeling washing over her. She saw the look on Zoe's face and she knew Cal did, too, though he was choosing to ignore it.

Zoe was royally pissed.

"Fine." She said, her voice high-pitched, "Then we'll _discuss _this out here," She said, placing emphasis on the word, "You didn't think that maybe you should run this little Gillian's Bakery idea by me first?"

Cal shrugged and affected a cavalier tone, "No, not really."

"Interesting," Zoe said.

"Zoe…" Roger's voice cut in—he was silenced with an icy stare.

Gillian pushed her desserts around her plate, and Emily pleaded silently with her mother to abandon her current course of action. Zoe paid no mind.

"Emily's _my_ daughter, _Cal_," She said, her tone making it clear that the phrase was actually for the benefit of Gillian, rather than Cal, "And I'd appreciate if any sort of mother-daughter activities that you choose to allow to go on between my daughter and…_Gillian_, are run by me, _beforehand_," She said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Zoe." Cal's tone was harsh.

"At least," Zoe continued, "Until you can tell me what she is to you." Zoe said.

At Zoe's words, Gillian felt a shiver run down her spine—she looked at Cal who was staring intently at Zoe and she avoided eye-contact with everyone else at the table. Suddenly, she stood from her position, placed her napkin on the table and spoke with a quiet, stern voice.

"Well, I had better get going," She said, and Cal's head snapped to look at her.

"Gillian," He said, his tone soft, bordering on pleading.

"No." She said simply, and she turned her attention to Zoe. Mustering up a smile, she regarded the woman, "Zoe." She said, with a slight nod of her head, "Thank you for a lovely meal, it was delicious." She said, as she stepped around the chair and headed for the door.

"Let me walk you out," Cal said, recognizing that he wasn't going to change her mind.

"No." She said, and her tone had a specific tenor of finality.

Cal wanted to leave with her, but he'd known her long enough and well enough to know that she'd have none of it—she wanted to leave dinner gracefully, and he'd allow her that.

Gillian made her way to the door, shrugged on her coat and walked to her car—choking back the feeling of sadness that swept through her.

She didn't stay long enough to hear Emily tell her mother how rude she was, "Gillian was just being nice, mom." She'd said, before walking up to her room.

She hadn't seen Cal lay into Zoe, never raising his voice, but letting her know in no uncertain terms that her behavior was unacceptable and despicable.

And Gillian didn't stay to watch as Cal shook Roger's hand and left without even touching Zoe—

Cal got in his car, berating himself for not responding quickly enough—for not shutting Zoe's tirade down soon enough. In trying to keep the peace he'd allowed things to go too far. Putting his key in the ignition, he drove to a store that he knew was open 24 hours a day, year round, looking for one specific thing.

He nearly kissed the employee—who happened to be a man—when he located the item, the last of its kind in the entire store.

Determined to make things right, he drove purposefully to Gillian's house—he parked outside her house and with his purchase tucked under his arm, he traveled up her walkway and issued a tentative knock on her door.

Cal felt the butterflies in his stomach as he saw the space behind the peephole darken as she looked through it. He grinned in anticipation as he heard her begin to click the lock—he would make things right, with the help of the present he'd just procured. His fingers gripped it tightly as the door began to open.

* * *

_TBC._

_Yes, Gillian's mad. Yes, I'm going to fix it. _

_kthxbai.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Well, FINALLY- the last chapter of this fic is here! That's pretty much all I have to say. _

_

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_

Gillian swung the door open and was immediately greeted by a grinning Cal. "Are you mad?" He ducked his head and looked at her through his lashes.

Were she not, indeed, mad, Gillian would have laughed at the rather sheepish expression that crossed his face.

"Well, I'm not exactly happy," Gillian held the door open so that he could pass through. Even though she was rather displeased with Cal, she still closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his body lightly brushing hers as he passed through her door.

Cal nodded curtly as he walked past her into the warmth of her apartment. "Understandable," Cal said as he shrugged off his coat and set it on the arm of Gillian's couch.

Gillian's eyes were drawn to something he held with both his hands, "What's that?" She arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

Cal smiled at her and then shifted his glance in between Gillian's eyes and his own hands. "This," Cal said dramatically, "is part one of my apology." Cal looked at her hopefully as he held the gift out for her to see.

Despite the tightening in her chest that had been present since things had begun to go south at Zoe's earlier in the evening, Gillian chuckled as she looked at the box he proffered.

"A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," She said, shaking her head. "You've no idea, actually, how appropriate this movie is given the happenings of today." Gillian took the DVD, unwrapped it, and popped it into the DVD player.

Cal looked at her tentatively as he took a seat on her couch. She grabbed the remote and clicked the appropriate buttons as she sat down on the couch. Cal took notice of the distance she kept between them.

Her body was slightly tense and Cal eyed her—when she turned to look at him, he arched his eyebrow in question.

"Oh, no." She said with a slight shake of her head, "You're far from forgiven." Cal watched, though, as her body relaxed into the couch as the familiar music played from the TV. She smiled slightly at him, "The movie's a good start, though." Her voice was quiet as she fixed her eyes on the screen.

Cal smiled. "Fair enough." He reached out and took her left hand with his right and was relieved when she didn't pull away. He gave it a gentle squeeze and watched as another smile ghosted across her lips.

Cal turned his face to the screen and watched the opening scene. He chuckled when he saw the football and Gillian looked at him and smiled.

Cal watched as Lucy held the football out for Charlie Brown to kick—and despite himself, he cringed when he watched Charlie run up to the ball, fully prepared to kick it only to have Lucy whip it away at the last minute. "Saw that coming," He said, looking at Gillian. As Charlie Brown landed hard on the ground, Cal smiled at the woman sitting next to him, "Thanks for not doing _that_ to me when we played football today, love."

Gillian kept her eyes on the television, but smiled—"Hm," She said, as if deep in contemplation, "Perhaps I should have," She said, pursing her lips.

Cal chuckled as he felt Gillian squeeze his hand lightly. He settled in to watch the rest of the movie. He longed to pull her to him so that they could cuddle while watching the movie and so that he could kiss her hair whenever he felt like it—but he could tell she was still upset, and so he settled for holding her hand and running his thumb up along the top of her hand on occasion, eliciting a warm smile from Gillian that he watched for out of the corner of his eye.

Cal enjoyed the way Gillian enjoyed the movie—and he found himself chuckling at bits in the movie along with her. When it finally ended, Gillian reached for the remote and Cal mourned briefly their loss of contact as she shut the television off.

Her eyes remained on the screen, not looking at him. Cal reached out to touch her arm, "Hey," He said, his voice gentle.

She looked at him, then, turning her head from the television, a serious expression on her face.

"You ready to talk?" He asked, angling his body toward her, letting her know that he was open to listening.

Gillian sighed as she shifted her body to face him—she brought her leg up and tucked it underneath her, "I suppose," She said, as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ears.

Cal nodded his head slightly.

Gillian offered him a tight smile before she began speaking—"I didn't want to go to Zoe's." She said, simply.

"I know." Cal nodded.

"I went anyway." She said, "Because you asked me to—and so did Emily." She shrugged her shoulders, "And because I wanted to be with you."

"I know," Cal repeated, his voice soothing. He understood she wasn't done talking yet, and he wanted to make sure she knew he was listening.

Silence fell between them and Cal watched as something serious passed over her face. He'd known Gillian long enough to know that she was trying to choose precisely what she wanted to say—she was also trying, he recognized, to gather the courage to say it. With a steadying breath, she finally spoke, "You let Zoe attack me." Her voice dropped off at the end and Cal watched as sadness presented itself on her face.

Gillian's eyes stayed on Cal's face—and he recognized with a tinge of sadness that she was waiting for him to defend himself—to defend Zoe. The thought broke his heart a little. That had been exactly how it was in the past—but things were different now, and he intended to show her that.

"I know." He said, simply, and he watched as Gillian's eyes widened in momentary surprise. That hadn't been what she was expecting. Cal bit his lips and chose his words very carefully—he wanted to explain, not make excuses for his behavior, "I've made excuses for Zoe for years," Cal shrugged his shoulders and watched as Gillian nodded her head in agreement, "But her behavior tonight is inexcusable," His voice was harsh, but Gillian understood it wasn't for her, "I didn't react quickly enough—we were all sitting there and it escalated so quickly," He said, "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider her feelings—I didn't want to embarrass her in front of Emily or in front of Roger—" Cal trailed off.

"So you let her embarrass me?" Gillian said, and she was disappointed to feel tears begin to burn her eyes.

Cal nodded and allowed the shame he felt for it pass across his face—"Yes." He said, nodding gravely, "But it's the last time." He assured, his voice full of resolve. "You're more important," Cal reached his hand out and caressed her face softly with the back of his hand, "You're most important," Cal let the truth of his words wash across his face as he met Gillian's gaze.

Gillian studied him—she took in his facial expression and then she took in the look he had in his eyes. Cal watched as she tried to decide whether or not he actually meant what he said—Cal felt the knot in his stomach untie itself when she finally decided that he did.

She nodded and smiled at him, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen as his fingers touched her skin, "Okay."

She had intended to ask why he had such a hard time—why they had such a hard time, really—defining what she _was_ to him. But, like so many things between them, it didn't need to be spoken. The way Cal looked at her when he didn't know she was paying any attention—the way he looked at her when he knew she was paying full attention—told her everything she needed to know. For now, anyway.

Cal smiled, "So, part two of my apology is that you'll never have to deal with that again." He said, matter-of-factly. Then, he grinned and asked with a heavy sigh, "How do I always get into these things?"

Gillian chuckled, recognizing the line from the movie they'd just watched. Gillian moved her hand to cover Cal's, which was still on her face—smiling, she answered, "It's your own fault cause you're so wishy-washy."

Cal laughed rather loudly at that, and watched as the skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled a most bedazzling smile at him, "You are _so_ beautiful," He breathed out.

The smile she wore faded, and she felt tears spring to her eyes again—she loved the awe with which Cal said that particular phrase to her, the way his eyes got deep as his mouth formed the words—the way he didn't take his eyes off her—the way he wasn't lying.

Gillian cleared her throat, "So," she said, her head leaning against the couch cushion, "This apology," She said, a quirky smile returning to her face, "How many parts is it?" She asked, a gleam in her eye.

Cal chuckled—"Six." He answered.

She quirked her eyebrow at him, "Six? That's a very big apology."

"For a very big crime," He said, his voice serious and playful at the same time, "If you want to head upstairs, we can get to part three," Cal waggled his eyebrows at her.

Laughing, Gillian leaned in to him, her mouth inches from his, "Oh?" She said, her voice sultry, "I think I'm going to like part three," she said, her breath on his lips.

Then, she closed the distance between them, planting a light kiss on his lips—her hand moved to his hair, then, as she ran her tongue along his bottom lip, seeking entrance into his mouth. Cal opened his mouth and groaned as he felt Gillian's tongue slide along his own. He tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss. Gillian moaned against him as she felt Cal's tongue slip into her mouth and then slip back out allowing him to bite her bottom lip gently before kissing her again.

Finally, Cal pulled away and looked at her, his eyes dark with desire, matching the desire in Gillian's eyes. Gillian's hands were still in Cal's hair, and she tugged lightly, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling.

Cal bit his lip as he looked at her—he felt his heart swell as he moved his hand from her head. Cal ran his thumb gently along her bottom lip, his gaze flicking between her lips and her eyes—his left hand caressed her back as his right thumb stroked her lip—when he spoke, his voice was gravelly, "I think," He said, pushing his thumb between her lips and gasping when he felt her hot tongue slide across his flesh, "I'm losing control of the whole world."

* * *

END

_A/N:The last line comes from, of course, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.  
_

_Thank you ALL for being lovely, lovely reviewers. Fic writing is tough work and knowing that you guys are enjoying this really helps me write-truly. If it weren't for your reviews, in fact, this would never have been finished._

_To everyone asking about a Christmas fic- we'll see. It depends on several variables, really._

_Seriously, thanks for the reviews- they mean A LOT. _

_Natalie

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"If you want a love message to be heard, it has got to be sent out. To keep a lamp burning, we have to keep putting oil in it." - Mother Teresa.


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